


The Price of the World

by SuicideChild



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And Addiction, Angst, But not on purpose, Canon Divergence, Cheating, Cole wants to help, Cullen is Getting Around Apparently, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Repression, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gore, Heart Break, Jealous Lavellan, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Mage Lavellan - Freeform, Maybe fluff, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Probably a Little bit of Sexual Abuse, Slow Burn, anger issues, break ups, dealing with depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9894086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuicideChild/pseuds/SuicideChild
Summary: Having the fate of the world quite literally thrust into your hands (or maybe just one hand) is a burden that no one should have to do. Unfortunately for a young Dalish mage, the Divines Conclave ends with him in chains, and a tough road ahead as the responsibility of saving the world is put upon him and him alone.Finding comfort in a world gone mad is certainly not an easy thing to do.





	1. Doubt and Fear

**Author's Note:**

> So, my first Dragon Age fic.  
> It probably would have been wise to start with a one shot to get a feel for the characters (because I am unpracticed at writing for them), instead of something chapter, but I can never find good ground for those, where to start and end, how long to make them, etc., so I started with this. It isn't a long chapter, but I hope I don't have to be so fanciful in getting the ball rolling.  
> I sincerely hope people enjoy this, because of the many many many Inquisitors that I have made and played with, Loren has been my favourite, and I hope that in writing this, I can adjust dialogue to better suit the personality I had imagined for him when I created him.
> 
> Please keep in mind that all my work is unbeta'd. I wouldn't mind changing that, though!

Watching with glee as a butterfly flew to land delicately on the tip of his staff, Loren was unaware of the eyes that watched him until his Keeper cleared her throat, "Loren? A word, if you will?" She called as he jerked around to face her, the crudely carved staff clattering to the ground. He took a couple of deep breaths, panic had welled in his chest at the sudden interruption, as it was often known to do. He tried to calm himself by watching the butterfly flit away, telling himself that it shared in his fear, but it seemed so carefree that he couldn't convince himself.

The Keeper gave Loren a sympathetic smile, "My apologies, I shouldn't have snuck up on you." She said, offering a hand out to calm her young apprentice. "But I must speak to you. It is an urgent matter."

Knitting his brow, Loren stooped down to collect his staff, "Of course, Keeper." He said as he righted himself, "Is something the matter?" His heartbeat climbed and stuttered a little, as the fear that he had done something to deserve reprimand begin to nag at the back of his mind. He tried to think of what he could have done.

"Of course not, da'len." The Keeper threw up her hand again, this time to stop his train of thought from going undesirable places, "Not with the clan." She added.

This allowed some tension to drain from Loren's shoulders, until the keeper spoke once more.

"Hanin has said she has heard whispers, among the Shem… about the war waging between the Templars and the Mages." The Keeper had begun to walk away from Loren, forcing him to jog to catch up on short legs. "They speak of their Most Holy organizing a meeting between both sides to hold peace talks." Her fingers drummed against her arm as she hugged her abdomen, "The request I am about to make of you, da'len, is not one I would make if I had not thought that these peace talks could change everything." She stopped abruptly, and Loren collided with her back. She didn't seem to notice as she turned around to face him, eyes dark with the gravity of her next words, "Loren, I wish for you to go to Wycome and join up with a group of pilgrims preparing to leave for Haven, a small village at the base of the Frost Backs. I want you to attend this Divine Conclave, and to learn the plans of the Shem."

Loren's jaw dropped and he stared at her for a long moment, gaping like a dead fish. When he finally found his voice again, it was even higher than usual, and full of disbelief, "Keeper, surely you cannot be-" He was silenced by the Keeper's hard stare.

"Understand that I would not trust this task with anyone but you. Blend in with the Mages at the Conclave, and listen to these peace talks, and report back when the Conclave has ended." The Keeper clasped her fingers around Loren's shoulders, and looked down at him, "Fear not, because I am not sending you away forever. We are your family here, and we all wish you a safe journey to Haven." She said.

Loren bowed his head, swallowing any protest that threatened to spill from his clenched jaw. Finally, all he could bring himself to do was nod.

"I thank you, da'len. This is no small task that you have been given. We leave for a small valley outside of Wycome in the morning. When we arrive, gather your things, and say your goodbyes. We will eagerly await your return." Her hand left his shoulder, and she walked away, leaving him to process the request that had been made of him.

Something about this entire thing didn't sit well with him. He couldn't regain his focus as walked back towards the edge of the camp to practice a few simple spells that he was confident he wouldn't lose control of.

 

   ••••••

 

That night around the fire, there were quiet murmurs about moving again. Every once in awhile, Loren was spared a concerned glance, and someone would whisper their disagreement about the Keeper's choice of delegate.

Their doubts sat heavy with Loren as he caught bits of quiet conversation. Some said that Loren wouldn't survive the trip to Haven, others doubted his ability to blend in at the Conclave, whispering about what they would do if they found a Dalish mage spying on the peace talks. There was mention of torture, and more of death. The way these words were spoken, they did not sound like concerns, but instead criticisms that he was meant to hear. Each new thought cut into him and brought tears to his eyes, that he hastily brushed away. Did his Clan really think so little of him?

It was no secret that Loren was a shy individual. He was prone to panic attacks, and often got tongue tied in even the simplest of conversations. He was also meek and sickly. often falling victim to any sort of sickness that the rest of his clan had built up an immunity to. He had once nearly been killed when he caught a cold while travelling through the mountains.

Despite this, Loren did not lack talent. He was young, having only been given his vallaslin two years ago. He had chosen to wear the marks of Mythal, and thus the tree-like markings had been applied to his face. Many had thought him unable to complete the ritual, but he proved them wrong, sitting stoic as the Keeper had performed the ritual.

That had been easy enough, to bite his tongue, but this… leaving his Clan… he was sure of all the doubts his clanmates had, his were the strongest, but he kept this to himself as he ate in silence, doing his best to ignore the looks in his direction, and tune out the harsh words.

Fear pooled uneasily in his gut, making it hard to stomach his dinner. Eventually, he gave up, setting aside the bowl of stew, deciding that maybe he would be able to eat later. His emerald eyes were focused intently on the dancing flames, and his long fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against his thigh. His clan was probably right. How would

Hanin sat down next to him, throwing her arm around his shoulder. The red-headed elf was silent for a moment, as if thinking about what should be said. He frowned distrustfully at the hand that rested against his bicep, knowing that Hanin had nimble fingers, and was prone to stealing. She had joined Clan Lavellan coming from an Alienage in Tantervale after she had been sentenced to execution for stealing the coin out of the Chantry Donation box.

"So!" Hanin had always been loud and brash, and Loren was still not used to hearing her bright, brassy voice booming right in his ear. She didn't notice his flinching, or she didn't care, because she pressed on in her same, obnoxious volume. "Heard you're going to Ferelden, little buddy!" She said, shaking him a little.

From the moment Hanin had joined the Clan, she had been determined to befriend Loren, claiming that she liked his face. After the first time she had made this proclamation, she had kissed him, flicked the tip of his left ear, and bounced off to do Creators know what. Loren didn't get city elves.

"Yes, no thanks to you." Loren said with a little huff, leaning into Hanin's side and giving her a half hearted glare.

She smiled triumphantly, blue eyes twinkling with amusement, "C'mon!" She bellowed in a joyous tone, smacking her hand against Loren's back, as if to reassure him. "You get to sail! On a ship! How kickass is that!" She let out a chortle of laughter, and clapped him on the shoulder, this time, far more gently, "That salty air will be good for you. Put some hair on that chest of yours!" She said.

Loren couldn't help the roll of his eyes as she poked the exposed portion of his chest, thanks to the low cut of the loose fitting tunic that she had bought him when they had camped near Starkhaven. "'Cause you're as smooth as Andraste's ass." She said with a little snicker and a cheeky grin.

Loren snorted, "Isn't that like… Blasphemy or something?" He asked.

Hanin shook her head, "Every fifth word out of my mouth is Blasphemy, Loren." She said, before she turned abruptly, straddling the log, and putting her hands down on the wood between her legs. She leaned forward a little, displaying a great deal of cleavage to Loren, "Say. How 'bout a going away party?" She suggested with a little wink. Apparently she took Loren's bemused expression as consent, because she got up and grabbed his hand, dragging him away from the fire and off towards the creek that wasn't far from camp.

All doubts were momentarily expelled from Loren's mind during his time with Hanin, and for that, he was grateful, as it allowed him a restful sleep under the trees with the lanky woman pressed into his side.

 

   ••••••

 

The next morning, he was woken up by the sound of rustling, and then a shout, "C'mon, little buddy!" Hanin said as she did up the laces of her pants, "Wouldn't want the rest of them to move on without us." She paused and then smirked, "Or catch you with your dick out." She let out a delighted giggle, and tossed Loren his own trousers, before bounding off to go get something for breakfast.


	2. The Long Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loren journeys to the Temple, and finds out that without his Clan, the road is a lonely place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have hopes that I'm not going to drop this like I do with everything else I try to write. It's less likely since I play Dragon Age a lot.  
> But here's to hoping *invisible cheers*.

The trip to Wycome was not a difficult one, per se, but the weather that hindered the progress of their Aravels made it a frustratingly slow one. The wind whipped against the sails, and Loren was sure that the weather was working in tandem with the pebble that he couldn't find in his boot to dampen his spirits and deter him further from the task at hand, not that he couldn't do either of those things on his own.

Eventually, he opted to remove his shoes all together, and shook them out. He still found no sign of the pebble, and silently cursed the Dread Wolf.

As if the wind wasn't bad enough, it brought with it looming grey clouds that hung threateningly over the Dalish caravan. Before long, a relentless, viscous rain beat down on the Clan, soaking them to the bone.

Loren tugged the hood of his thin cloak up over his now damp, pale blonde hair, that was already messier than he would have liked it to be, but he supposed he had no right to expect neat hair, for he was once again traveling, and traveling rarely ever gave on time to focus on their hair. Besides, he cared very little about the impression he made on the shems that he was going to be accompanying all the way to Haven. They were probably being paid off, anyways, not to mention tales of wild dalish hedonism, and sacrificing babies to their demon Gods.

"Are you sure this isn't a waste of time?" Loren asked, looking at the Keeper. "What do the Shems and their Chantry war have to do with us?"  
"Da'len." Her voice was scolding as she returned his gaze, "This war affects everyone, human or no." She said.

Loren sighed deeply, "Can we at least take a break to wait out the weather?" He asked, glancing up at the angry sky.

The Keeper shook her head, "No. We must reach Wycome by nightfall." She said, worrying her lower lip between pearly teeth.  
Loren let out a dejected sigh, but fell silent, watching the Halla pull the Aravels towards their destination.

 

   •••••

 

By the time the clan had reached Wycome, they were cold, wet, and angry. They were also directing their frustrations at Loren, because they all saw him as the cause of their move. "Why couldn't he have gone alone?" Some complained, only to be scolded by the Keeper, telling them that the Dalish stick together.

Loren was relieved, however, when they stopped. The Keeper gathered the things she had prepared for him. Some stock mercenary armor, a dinner of waybread and salted pork, and a hefty bag of coin to buy his way into the group of Shem travelling for the Divine's Conclave.

As he left, he couldn't help but thinking how intimidating "The Temple of Sacred Ashes" sounded. He had been forced to leave his staff behind so that he didn't draw too much attention to himself during his trip. instead having to settle with a light sword forged from iron. Knife-play was not Loren's speciality, and he felt naked and vulnerable without his staff, but he said nothing of this when he bid his kin farewell.

Hanin insisted on travelling to the city gates with him, and the Keeper agreed with much reluctances. Before Hanin went to get her cloak, the Keeper grabbed her and told her, in a stern tone, that she was to come straight back once Loren had been sent on his way. It expectedly, drew argument from Hanin, saying that Loren shouldn't be going all the way to Haven on his own, but the Keeper stood firm, and eventually Hanin's resolve faded and she begrudgingly agreed to come back after Loren had left.

Hanin made the muddy journey to the city gates a lot more bearable, making jokes and wisecracks as they walked. She had to slow her pace a couple times to free Loren from the mud, however, she kept on that huge smile that made everything feel warm.

"It's going to be great, Lori." Hanin said, threading her fingers through his. Her hands, much to his embarrassment, were larger than his, and nearly engulfed his wear they swung idly between them. "Keep your chin up."

Loren couldn't help thinking that Hanin would have been a much better choice for this task. She may be loud, but she knew how to blend into a crowd. Plus, she didn't bear the telltale vallaslin that marked Loren as Dalish. She could easily pass as a city elf, and that would buy her more leniency if she were discovered as a spy.

When they reached the city gates, the Caravan that the Keeper had mentioned was packing and ready to go. Loren said a quick farewell before moving to unjoin his hand from Hanin's. She stopped him, and grabbed his shoulder, "Be safe." She said, sounding uncharacteristically serious.

When Loren turned to gaze upon her face, her chapped lips were set into a thin frown, worry creased her freckled brow. "I'm serious. I want you to come back." She then relaxed and gave Loren a huge grin, jabbing him in the stomach, "Now, I gotta get back before the Keeper decides to send a search party." She said. And with those words, Hanin spun on her heels and ran off through the mud with all the grace of a three-legged nug.

Loren chuckled softly as he watched her go, before he steeled his nerves and approached the Shem.

A young woman with cropped raven hair and frown lines, who was bridling a chestnut plow horse was the first to notice him. She knitted her eyebrows, but did not seem as though she would attack him on sight. "What's your business here, rabbit?" She called.

Rabbit. Well, it was better than knife ear, he supposed. Loren freed the coin purse from his belt and bounced it in his hand, "I'd like to join you on your journey. I have heard you plan to set out for the Temple of Sacred Ashes." He said.

The woman frowned, "What interest does a Dalish have with Andraste's resting place?" She asked.

Loren paused, "I'm no longer Dalish." He said, "My Clan sent me away because I did not wish to follow their ways."  
"And what ways would that be?" The woman asked.

"Blood magic. Sacrificing. Ya know, just your typical Clan of Heathens." Loren said.

The woman looked taken aback, but did not ask further question. "If you want to join us, you'll have to talk to Lady Camilla." She said, gesturing to a  mild aged woman in a thin tunic and riding pants. Her honey gold hair was streaked with grey, tied back in a loose bun, thin, rebellious curls falling from their tie, framing soft silvery-blue eyes that were focused downwards as she looked over what appeared to be a ledger.

When she spoke, she had a thick Orlesian accent, that made her voice sound playful. "Saphine?" She called.

The woman who had been attempting to bridle the horse stopped her task and cast her gaze upwards towards Camilla, "Yes, Mistress?" She responded.

"How are we on dried fruit? This journey isn't going to be a short one." Camilla said without looking up.  
"We have several weeks worth, ma'am." Saphine replied.

A young boy, no more than ten, who shared similar facial features to Saphine approached her, "Are we going yet?" He asked in a soft whine.

Saphine tsked him softly, "Patience, son." She said, reaching down to ruffle his hair, "Go play with Lady Camilla's dog." She said.

The boy ran off and Saphine looked back at Loren, "What, you gonna buy me dinner or something? Move it." She said.

Loren cleared his throat awkwardly and scrambled over to Lady Camilla, "Excuse me, ser?" His voice was less confident than he had hoped.

The woman turned around, dropping her ledger with a clatter, putting her hand over her chest, "Maker! You startled me!" She said. She didn't sound angry, but Loren shrunk back all the same.

"My apologies." He said.

Camilla shook her head and crouched down to collect her ledger, "Can I help you?" She asked.

Loren offered her the pouch of coins, "I'd like to join you on your journey to Haven." He said.

She held out her hand and Loren deposited the coins in her palm. She took one out to examine it, and then bit at it to make sure it was real. "Alright, kid." She said, pocketing the coin, "You're welcome to join us. Just don't cause any trouble."  
That had gone a lot better than Loren had expected. The panic that had tightened his chest drained away, and he relaxed a little, "Thank you."  
Camilla waved a dismissive hand, "My husband will be there soon, and then we can head out." She said.

Loren cast a shift gaze upwards, and frowned, "If you don't mind me asking, why are we setting out so late in the evening?" He asked.

Camilla let out a bark of laughter, and shook her head, "I enjoy the night air." She said, "It's brisk and refreshing. Plus, we gotta start out soon if we plan to make it to Hercinia in time to catch our ship." She added.

Why were they traveling to Hercinia just to catch a boat? Camilla must have noticed the confusion on Loren's face, because she began to laugh.

"The harbor here is packed full of thugs and crazies, and extremely exorbitant boat fares." She said, waving her hand.

She was distracted, then, by the approach of another human. A tall, intimidating man with a scar on his jaw, and thick, dark hair. He slung an arm around Camilla's shoulder, which she shrugged of dismissively, "You smell like a brewery." She said, the disdain clear in her voice.

The man let out a loud sigh, "I ain't never left the Marches, Camilla." He said, "I need something to sooth the nerves." He said.

This man's accent was entirely Free March-y, though Loren had noted a long while ago that everyone had different accents around here depending on where they were from. This one was definitely a new one. Probably distinctive to Wycome.

 

   •••••

 

The trip to Hercinia was estimated to take about five days, and Loren prayed to the Creators that the weather was less cruel as they went South. They had no mounts, so a lot of the trip was made on foot, which was no big deal for Loren, but the young boy would not stop complaining, and Loren was two seconds away from strangling him when Camilla spoke up.

"Saphina, quiet that brat of yours before I cut his tongue out." She said.

Loren had never expected to hear such threats from an Orlesian, but the look on the boy's face made him laugh softly.

He fell back a little to walk alongside Camilla, "So, where are we heading from Hercinia?" He asked.

She spared him a sideways glance, before sighing, "We're catching a ship to Jader." She said, "And from Jader, we're going along the Imperial Highway until we reach Haven."

Loren paused, "Isn't Highever closer to here than Jader?" He asked.

"Yeah, but Jader is closer to Haven, and Haven is where we want to go." She said.

 

   •••••

 

The road was lonely without his Clan, and the trip was uneventful. Loren found small comfort in making small talk with Camilla. The others treated him like he had the blight, and it frustrated him to no end.

He quickly learned that he was not a seaworthy elf. Not long after their boat left the harbor in Hercinia, he was green in the face, and emptying the contents of his light lunch over the rail of the boat. Camilla brought him down in the hull of the ship, and set him up in her bed.

The trip across the Waking Sea was a long and tiresome one, and when they reached Jader, Loren had never been so happy to see dirt, he nearly wept.

It was easy going on the Imperial Highway, and they ran into little trouble, besides a group of bandits who were scared away by Camilla's husband.

Reaching Haven was a relief. The accommodations were not great, in fact, it was little more than a freezing wasteland with a Chantry built on it, but it meant the end of his traveling for now.

He slept for a day straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope it doesn't seem like I'm rambling or just trying to fill space. A lot of the details in this chapter seem utterly pointless. This whole chapter seems utterly pointless.  
> Once again, I find myself nervous about posting this, however, here it is.  
> Drop a comment if you find yourself compelled to. I love hearing from people.  
> I don't suggest expecting such frequent updates. It's not my strong point.


End file.
